


Your Words Devour My Heart

by elwon



Series: Escape to Gotham [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: AroAce Damian Wayne, Discussions of Asexuality, Established JayDick, M/M, Mentioned Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne - Freeform, Mentions of Clark Kent - Freeform, Titus is a very good boy, discussions of war preparations, husbandly duty, mentioned Tim Drake/Barbara Gordon, mentions of Jon Kent, mentions of Selina Kyle - Freeform, the spice is spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwon/pseuds/elwon
Summary: Eight years of safety in Gotham have passed, but Jason knows this refuge can’t last forever. Events get set into motion that mean hard choices must be made.





	Your Words Devour My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Distant Sun by Crowded House - https://youtu.be/wrk3eymLg8s 
> 
> If anyone is interested in seeing a map detailing the Escape to Gotham world, you can find one here: http://elwon.tumblr.com/post/174635732507/updated-map-of-the-escape-to-gotham-world-the
> 
> This is the last in the series, folks! It's been a fun ride, but it's time for me to focus on other things. Thank you to everyone who's kudosed, commented or bookmarked!

Jason finds himself reviewing the last eight years as Zahir subtly passes him the coded note about Bruce’s latest meeting with both Timothy and Barbara. The note reads ‘Only information relevant to us: the Metropolis rebels are requesting aid again. King is still only agreeing to help refugees fleeing the country and nothing more.” Jason crushes the note between in his fist and stares out of the window into the training yard where Damian is currently sparring with Suren Darga.

In the years since they arrived in Bristol, twenty more of their countrymen have made it through Nyssa’s iron grip on the borders and travelled the perilous journeys here to join up under Damian’s banner. While there are enough of them to form a guard under Jason, it’s nowhere near enough people to even begin thinking about a rebellion.

They’ve also had news that had been verified by several reliable and independent sources that while Ra’s was still missing and unheard from, Talia had been caught early on and executed by Nyssa, only to suffer the final indignity of having her decapitated head set on a spike on top of the city walls. Damian flew into an uncontrollable rage at the news, and worked himself into exhaustion daily on the training yard.

Jason, on the other hand, had felt numb at the news, and worked through the knowledge that he’d never have another quiet conversation with his mother figure by himself, mostly through reading all of the books and tomes on warcraft and espionage that Talia had told him he should, but he’d never had the time to before. Dick offered to help, but Jason wanted to space, and Dick gave it with a soft smile, a kiss and a gentle hand pressed to his cheek.

With every new countryman that joins them, Jason trains them quietly, secretly, into spies and fighters worthy of the name of the Al Ghul elite, loyal only to Damian, and by extension himself. Jason knows Bruce doesn’t approve of the way the Al Ghul elite guards work, silently in the shadows, striking fast and lethally; so all training is on the sly, focused on gathering information from Bruce’s government, that quite understandably, Bruce keeps from them. Jason does feel some guilt on turning their skills on their hosts, but they have to train somehow, and as a bonus, it keeps him informed. Zahir is one of his best, and he reminds Jason strongly of Ubu, Ra’s personal guard. Jason’s never asked, but he’s fairly sure Zahir must have some sort of family connection to him.

Jason is under the assumption that Dick knows that Jason’s been spying on Bruce. If he disapproves, he’s kept that to himself, and never shown any hint of unhappiness with Jason or Damian, except for empathy for their grief. Dick’s been the perfect husband all these years, their relationship growing stronger with every passing month. 

Jason’s amazed how perfectly they fit, as if they were made for each other. Where Jason has problems, usually in socialising with the people of Gotham, or at the very least the courtiers who haven’t achieved their position on merit; Dick is charming and sociable. When Dick has one of his rare problems with someone, Jason can easily slip in and convince the other person into Dick’s point of view. Although admittedly, he tends to use methods that aren’t strictly speaking, civil. Where Jason, by society’s rules and the wishes of Talia, can’t step in and show Damian the level of affection and care in public that he wishes he could, Dick can without question or suspicion, thanks to the adoption.

The only real problem Jason has these days is discovering exactly what Bruce’s plans are regarding Damian. Jason’s worst fears are that Bruce plans to install Damian as a puppet ruler in Al Ghul, rather than helping them as per the alliance that Dick and Jason’s marriage cemented. Jason has no proof either way, and because of that, all the plans and contingencies he has to make on Damian’s behalf are twofold. Sooner or later, Damian’s going to push the issue of reclaiming their homeland, and Jason’s going to have to back him. 

***

Out of the corner of his eye, Damian can see Jason through the window, crushing the slip of paper Zahir has given him in his fist. Damian turns his attention back to sparring with Suren, knowing that if Jason’s been given any information that Damian should know, he’ll tell him tomorrow, in private, before Dick returns back to their rooms from a long day visiting the various merchants guilds in the city. Damian spins into an extended kick that Suren dodges easily. The shorter boy takes far more than his deserved amount of glee from keeping himself just out of Damian’s reach. 

The instructor calls time on their spar, and Suren smiles a little too widely at the draw. There’s really only one response to that, so Damian throws his arm over Suren’s shoulders, grabbing him by the neck and ruffling his hair hard. Suren only laughs and even Maya Ducard sitting on the sidelines is smiling. Damian rolls his eyes at his friends and wonders quite how he stuck with them.

“If you two can attempt to make yourselves presentable for actual company, we’re supposed to meet Colin and Maps in the city for a night of carousing and not getting arrested, not naming any names, but I’m looking at you, Suren.” Maya says as they walk over to retrieve their shirts from where they left them in the sandy ground by her side.

“What do you mean presentable?” Damian scoffs. “My personage is always _presentable_.”

“You are kind of sweaty, your highness.” Suren says, tugging his shirt over his head. “And I’ve only been arrested six times! It’s not like I plan for it.” His shirt sticks to his messy hair and sweaty shoulders, in a comical fashion, and Damian smirks. 

“It’s a radiant, princely, sheen with a manly aroma.” Damian grins. “And if Darga would just tell that guard he likes her, we could all avoid possible arrests.” Suren makes a protesting noise, but doesn’t actually deny it.

“Alright, you’ve clearly been spending too much time with your father, my Lord. You’re starting to talk like him.” Maya rolls her eyes as she climbs to her feet, her short dark hair swaying in the light breeze.

“How very dare you.” Damian says in his most flat tone. “Prince Richard is a gift to the world. That’s in his own words, by the way.”

“And now you sound like Sir Jason!” Suren cackles wildly, finally righting his shirt and tugging it down.

“Remind me why I put up with the both of you?” Damian grumbles, probably for the hundredth time in his life, and not meaning it for a second.

“Because we were both dumb enough to swear undying fealty to you for the rest of our lives?” Maya says, probably for the hundredth time in her life.

“Tt. Yes, that sounds about right.” Damian nods, walking off in the direction of the baths, Suren on his heels.

“We’ll meet you outside, Maya!” Suren calls out over his shoulder.

Having washed up and pulled on clean clothes, Damian and Suren head to the castle gates to meet Maya and sneak out into Bristol City for a night of blowing off steam, forgetting all responsibilities, and definitely not getting arrested, _Suren_. Damian had met Colin Wilkes on his first time sneaking out without permission, and after a somewhat rocky start and mutual bloody noses had become fast friends. Colin was from one of the poorer sections of the city, and his experiences of having to fight tooth and nail for nearly everything in his life is almost the exact opposite of Damian’s life of privileged service. 

Despite the differences in their lives, they’d bonded easily, with Colin showing him the parts of the city that the ruling classes usually turned a blind eye to. Damian’s aware that those parts of the city are the areas that Jason grew up in. Jason had told him the one time he asked, that he’d be happy to show him around where he was born, once Damian was older and Jason was sure he could protect himself even if Jason was overwhelmed. Damian’s older now, and more than able to protect himself, but somehow the sadness in Jason’s eyes when Damian had asked stopped him from asking again. 

The walk through the quieter, cleaner, more spacious upper parts of the city into the busier, dirtier and more cramped parts that make up the lower parts of the city goes as quickly as it usually does, with the shortcuts that Maps had shown Maya one day. Damian and Maya had met Maps on one of their excursions into the merchant district and the effervescent map merchant’s daughter had insisted on showing them around. There was no saying no to Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi as Damian had soon realised.

Their excitement builds as they round the corner to the public ale house that they usually meet Colin and Maps in. Damian spots Maps waving wildly at them, big grin ever present on her face.

“Dami! Maya! Suren! You’re late!” Maps says in her slightly too loud voice, still smiling. She gets a few looks from passersby and a few of the alehouse patrons, but Maps being Maps, she doesn’t notice at all. “Colin’s waiting inside. He wanted to get a good seat for tonight’s wandering minstrel. I think he _likes_ her!”

“Oh, not him too.” Damian grumbles. “Honestly, what is wrong with boys? They see a pretty face and they’re tripping over tongues in an effort to make total fools of themselves.”

“Have you really never wanted to y’know... with a girl?” Suren says, tripping over his words and wide eyed at the thought.

“No. Never.” Damian declares, rolling his eyes at Suren. He simply doesn’t get the appeal of sex.

“What about boys?!” Maps whispers, although her version of a whisper is just as loud as her speaking voice.

“No. I don’t understand the appeal of wanting to get sweaty and grapple with another naked person.” Damian says. “I mean if I want to do that, I could just wrestle with... well anyone in the training yard.” 

“Huh.” Is all Maya says to that, but she’s giving Damian a considering look that Damian doesn’t like. “What are you going to do when you need an heir?”

“An heir? How am I supposed to even think about that before I’ve even got Al Ghul back?” Damian says, shoving his way through the surprisingly large crowd to make his way over to Colin.

“It’s never a bad idea to have a plan, my Lord.” Maya says, grabbing on to his shoulder and taking advantage of the gaps in the crowd Damian’s newfound bulk is causing.

“Ugh, Grayson said the exact same thing to me. I don’t want to think about it tonight.” Damian groans. Grayson had said it in the context of showing him the portraits of several pretty enough princesses on the market for a good match of a husband, though.

“Fair enough, nothing but fun tonight then.” Maya nods, with a gleam in her eye that Damian knows means he’s going to find himself in trouble at a later date.

“Nothing but fun, and no getting arrested!” Colin grins, lifting his cup of mead at them as they sit down at his table. Maps and Suren join them at the table moments later, arms full of tankards of beer.

“I’m not getting us arrested! Come on, I’m not _that_ bad!” Suren protests, shoving a tankard of cheap beer at Damian. He takes a sip, and yes it’s just as awful as every other time he’s had the beer here, but ordering a decent wine will destroy his carefully crafted disguise of fourth son of a merchant, despite how much more pleasant it’d be for his taste buds.

***

“Good morning, your Majesty.” Dick says, as he’s ushered into Bruce’s private study by one of the new footmen that he’s not yet had time to learn the names of. Bruce’s private study has heavy tapestries on the stone walls to warm the place up, and small high windows to prevent assassination attempts, that don’t let enough light in. As a consequence, there are lamps scattered about the heavy dark wood furniture that make the polished wood gleam, even in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Richard. You’re well, I trust?” Bruce says, not even looking up from his many scrolls and papers on his desk.

“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Dick settles himself into one of the big heavy chairs opposite Bruce’s desk and waits for Bruce to look up. If he’s going to be summoned this early in the morning then the least Bruce could do is actually give him his attention.

“How are Jason and Damian?” Bruce says, idly signing one paper and crossing out something else on another. Dick bites back a disappointed sigh.

“They’re fine. How’s Selina?” Dick shifts in his chair, he actually saw Selina last week, but he’s got no clue if she’s mentioned it to Bruce. And well, it never hurts to at least start off polite.

“She’s doing very well for herself. She’s enjoying fleecing some of my more wealthy subjects out of their fortunes quite a lot.” Bruce looks up and a nostalgically fond smile is on his face. He actually sets aside his papers and focuses that sharp gaze on Dick’s face.

“Well, that’s her thing, Bruce! I mean she’s going to take full advantage of her position as your mistress to run that um... what did she call it again?” Dick knows full well the inn is called The Cat’s Eyes, but the easiest, most reliable way to get Bruce to open up is to ask him to describe his loved ones.

“Den of iniquity.” Bruce grimaces, but Dick catches the amused twist to his lips as it flickers in and out at the end of his pulled face.

“Right! It’s not her fault you missed your moment to actually ask her to marry you.” Dick can’t help the small smirk on his face.

“Yes, as you both like to remind me. So very damn often. Mistakes are so easy to see in hindsight.” Bruce sighs, as if he really hadn’t seen it back when Dick was twelve. Speaking of reminding him...

“Funny, because I remember telling you quite loudly you should ask her at the time.” Dick says, grinning.

“Yes. Well...” Bruce sighs, and his eyes flick to the new expensive clock on the mantel above the fireplace. 

“Alright Bruce, why don’t we skip to the chase?” Dick decides to give Bruce a bit of a break; that was an impressive amount of time for socialising for Bruce. “We both know you didn’t summon me here for small talk. You always save that for lunch. Why am I here?”

“I need your opinion on a ...delicate matter.” Bruce says, shuffling some of his papers into a pile and wiping off his quill.

“Bruce, we’re alone, you can drop the politically careful talk.” Dick tilts his head in invitation. 

“I need your opinion on Damian’s capability and readiness to lead an invasion and overthrow his aunt. As his father, not as my son, or a Prince of Gotham.” Bruce says, staring unblinkingly at Dick. He’d forgotten how unnerving it actually is when Bruce does that.

“Damian’s an excellent fighter, and his grasp of tactics and strategy is more than good enough. But that’s not what you asked.” Dick says, slowly, trying to decide exactly what he wants to tell Bruce.

“No. It’s not.” Bruce says, but it’s not unfriendly or impatient for once.

“He’s capable. I just don’t think he’s ready.” Dick admits. Sixteen is still so young. Even if Damian’s pushing for it, Dick hopes they can convince him to wait a little longer.

“I thought you’d say that.” Bruce nods, resting his hands on the desk, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“Jason is.” Dick says, without really meaning to. “I mean, Jason is a leader already, if that makes a difference.”

“I’m aware that your husband is leading a reasonably sized group. I’m impressed they managed to stop four assassination attempts this last year.” Bruce is a mixture of amused, proud and annoyed saying that. “Do you think he can lead an army?”

“Jason?” Dick knows the answer is yes. But he really wants to say no, and keep both _his_ family members safe in Gotham. But... “Yes. And don’t be like that, Bruce. The target for at least two of those attempts was you. That should cheer you up.”

“Very funny. Gotham’s always welcomed refugees, but to give any of my men to a foreign national, it’s not only unheard of, it could set a precedent I’m not sure I want to follow through on.” Bruce pushes up from his chair, stepping over to a sideboard and picking up another parchment.

“The rebels in Metropolis?” Dick asks, but he’s pretty sure the answer is yes.

“Yes.” Bruce says, and Dick knows the rebels have been requesting aid more frequently recently.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Dick’s life hangs in the balance of Bruce’s decision. He wants Bruce to take as long as he can with it.

“Not as yet. I must consult with Barbara and Tim...” Bruce looks over to Dick with a flash of guilt on his face. 

“Of course.” Dick says, and a little of the bitterness creeps out, because once upon a time he’d have been included in that meeting.

“Dick. I know you’re still... hurt over my choice of Tim as crown prince, and I know I haven’t treated you as well as I should have. But I am very proud of you for what you’ve accomplished.” It looks like it physically pained Bruce to say that, and while Dick’s happy he’s made Bruce proud, he still doesn’t get it.

“That’s great, Bruce. But I was never mad about you choosing Tim.” Dick runs his hand through his hair. It’s getting a little long. He should get Jason to cut it this weekend. “I shouldn’t have found out at the official announcement. You should have told me yourself beforehand. Finding out in public with everyone looking and laughing at your little charity case actually thinking he had a shot at the throne? It was humiliating.”

“I didn’t handle it as well as I should have. Believe me, both Alfred and Selina were very vocal in their displeasure at how I handled it.” Bruce says, looking down and the awkwardness that permeates the room is almost overwhelming. 

“Yes, well...” Dick mumbles, hoping the subject will be changed quickly.

“It didn’t surprise anyone when you agreed to the alliance marriage with Al Ghul to get away from here.” Bruce sits back down at his desk, and takes a deep breath, clearly bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you. But I’m glad everything’s worked out so well for you.”

“I... Yes, yes it has. Thank you, Bruce.” Dick can’t help the smile that slides over his face as he thinks about Jason and Damian. Everything really did work out well for him.

***

Jason wraps the oiled cloth around the whetstone and scrubs roughly at the one particularly stubborn rust stain at the tip of his sword. Yesterday Damian had told him he’d cleaned them thoroughly and therefore deserved a night off, and Jason like a fool had agreed. So now Damian’s with his friends, and Jason’s sitting by the window, trying to enjoy the breeze while finishing off his son’s chores.

Faint shuffling footsteps from along the corridor sharpen as they come closer into the familiar tread that Dick uses, and Jason feels his shoulders relax. The door opens and Dick comes in, sighing and undoing his jerkin before dropping it on the floor as he always does. Jason’s eye doesn’t twitch, purely from long years of practice. Dick sighs again, louder and throws himself dramatically down onto the couch, arm across his face as it’s all too much for him.

“Good talk with his majesty?” Jason asks and tries not to grin at Dick’s startled jolt. Apparently Dick though he was alone. Dick relaxes once he recognises Jason’s voice.

“Interesting would be the word I’d use.” Dick says from under his arm. His pout is only just visible under his thin loose sleeve. “He wanted to talk about Damian. And you.”

“Oh? What did he want to know?” Jason slides his sword into its sheath and sets it down on the window seat next to him and gives Dick his full attention.

“What you expected.” Dick wiggles over onto his side to look at Jason from a more comfortable position, head resting indulgently on several fat plush cushions. “Oh, and he apologised for not telling me before the announcement that he’d chosen Tim to be Crown Prince. Finally. Only took the better part of a decade too.” 

“About time.” Jason nods, he’s been expecting that conversation to happen between Bruce and Dick for weeks now. “And well beyond time. So the two of you hashed it out?”

“We came to an understanding, I think. For the most part.” Dick stretches sinuously, rolling his back and hips in an enticing manner. “You really don’t think we can convince Damian to wait any longer, do you?”

“Honestly? I’m amazed we managed to convince him to hold out this long.” Jason sets the whetstone and cloth down next to his sword and gets out of the window seat, rolling his shoulders, stalking over to Dick. 

“I know you both want Al Ghul back, but...” Dick trails off as Jason draws close, meeting his eyes as Jason leans down over him and drops a kiss to his forehead. Dick rolls over onto his back and lets his legs fall wide open.

“But you love our life here and want us to stay safe, and not got out to fight a war that might get us killed? Yes, I know.” Jason says, voice dropping as he lowers himself down over Dick, settling in the vee of his legs like he belongs there.

“I know it’s selfish.” Dick says, looking away and biting his lip.

“It isn’t. It isn’t selfish at all, my Prince.” Jason nuzzles at the side of Dick’s face, nosing at his soft hair, and down behind his ear. “Really. It’s because you have the best husband and son and don’t want to lose them. Perfectly natural.” 

“Are you saying that because it’s part of your husbandly duty, or because you mean it?” Dick looks up at him with a smirk on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh, both. Definitely both. In fact...” Jason leans up, climbing to his feet and pulling Dick up into arms. “In fact, I think I should do my husbandly duties _right now_.”

“Oh yes! Damian really could do with a younger sibling, you know.” Dick laughs and swings his legs up into Jason’s waiting arm.

“For the last time, my Prince, it might be highly enjoyable, but it’s still impossible.” Jason smirks, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

“Highly enjoyable huh? Well, you _do_ have a lot of practice at it. My expectations have risen through the roof!” Dick smiles back, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders and tapping at his chest with his other hand.

“I’m up to the challenge. But you still won’t be expecting afterwards.” Jason waits for Dick’s reaction, because he’s been saving that pun up for a couple of months now.

“That was a terrible pun. Really, Jason. _Best_. _Husband_. _Ever_.” Dick throws his head back and kicks his leg up while grinning from ear to ear. Jason rolls his eyes fondly and takes him into the bedroom, fast.

***

When Damian staggers into their suite of rooms in the early light of the morning, Jason’s already up, sitting on the most comfortable chair by the unlit fire, reading a book with Titus’ head pillowed heavily and drooling on his feet, as the elderly dog is curled up in his favourite spot right in front of the fire grate.

“Oh finally! Can you pass me a glass of juice? Titus fell asleep on me and I don’t have the heart to wake him.” Jason whispers loudly. Damian sighs, but dutifully gets him the glass of juice. He passes it off to Jason and then collapses into the end seat of the couch, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Titus’ sleeping huffing breaths and the sound of Jason turning the pages of his book. 

“Todd. I need to ask you a question.” Damian says slowly. He’s actually quite apprehensive about talking to Jason about this, but he doesn’t really have any choice.

“Hmm? What about?” Jason sets his glass down, and looks over to Damian. “Girl trouble?”

“No.” Damian scowls. “And it’s not boy trouble either. Well, alright, it _is_. Sort of.”

“Damn it. I was really hoping you’d take all the romantic stuff to Dick." Jason sighs. "Alright, my Lord, what’s your question?”

“It’s... Tt. Why is this such a difficult subject?” Damian punches an overly stuffed cushion to his right, and considers his words. “I’ve noticed all my friends are going... silly over the opposite sex. Darga and Wilkes do stupid things in an attempt to impress girls who clearly aren’t impressed. Maya and Maps were giggling over some random boy from Metropolis. I mean, who cares how blue his eyes are, or how soft his hair looks, or how many crates he can carry?”

“Do you? Care how blue his eyes are?” Jason says carefully.

“What? No.” Damian shifts uncomfortably. “It just seems such a stupid thing to be twittering over? They could have discussed his annoying personality, or his apparently sad life story? But no, it was all about his looks.”

“You kids are about that age...” Jason starts to say.

“Tt. You mean sex.” Damian scoffs, interrupting him. “I’m not interested. In that. With anyone. Yet, everyone else wants it. Is there something wrong with me that I only care about reclaiming Al Ghul?” 

“Well, no.” Jason says, putting his book down next to his glass. “You’re focused on something very important. Of course you’re prioritising that over romance. But, you don’t find anyone attractive? Have fleeting thoughts that if you weren’t so busy, you would want to be with someone?”

“No. I enjoy being with my friends, of course. But the kissing and the cow-eyed looks and the hand holding? I don’t want any of that. Maya asked me how I expect to have an heir if I don’t want a girl. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You realise you don’t actually have to do your husbandly duty like that?” Jason says, lips quirking with amusement at that term even after all this time. “I certainly didn’t with your mother.”

“You didn’t?” Damian hasn’t actually ever spent any time considering how his mother and Jason actually brought him about. If he’d been asked he would have assumed the old fashioned way. “Then how?”

“A small jug in the morning that I did my, uh, doings, in. A quick run down the corridor to pass the jug off to one of your mother’s servants... and huh, I have no idea what Lady Talia actually did with that jug, but well, a few months of that and she was growing you inside her.” Jason shrugs, his matter of fact words belying the distant look in his eyes as he talks about Damian’s mother. “Anyway, the point is, if you want an heir, the whole romance and sex thing doesn’t have to be an issue, as long as your wife knows what she’s agreeing to.”

“Oh.” Damian feels more relief at that than he could have expected. “That’s good to know. You’re not... displeased that I don’t want that?”

“No. You’ve always been like that, so it’s hardly a surprise.” Jason says, and Damian’s reminded of conversations on camel back when they crossed the desert. “I mean, I’d like you to be happy. If a husband or wife isn’t something that’ll make you happy, then I’d rather you didn’t have one. On the other hand, you _are_ going to need an heir. Assuming we don’t die horribly in failure when overthrowing Nyssa, of course.”

“Yes, I feel we should avoid dying as much as possible. Grayson will become quite annoying if one of us does die. Don’t die, Todd. I’m making that an order.” Damian says, jabbing his fingers in Jason’s direction as if to make it official.

“He really, really will.” Jason nods, a flicker of seriousness going across his face at that. “Order received and understood, my Lord. Do your best to not die too, if you don’t mind.” 

“Speaking of. Have you brought up our request that he stay here when we go to Al Ghul?” Damian assumes he hasn’t. There haven’t been any loud arguments or throwing of things to his knowledge that he assumes will come about when Dick finds out they want to leave him behind.

“Not as yet.” Jason grimaces, running his hand through his hair. “The time hasn’t been right.”

“You can’t put it off much longer. I’m planning on appealing to King Bruce within the next week.” Damian reminds him. The appeal to Bruce is the culmination of over six years of hard work. It could mean everything they’ve done has been for nothing, or the start of the real struggle.

“I know, I know. All the other preparations are done, apart from a few last details.” Jason has a look on his face that Damian’s only ever seen once before on Jason, years ago in the very early morning in the tent in the desert when he though Dick and Damian were fast asleep and for a few short minutes Jason let himself despair quietly. That the thought of telling Dick to stay behind is putting that look there makes Damian’s chest contract painfully.

“If my presence there would help, then I suppose I don’t mind supporting you.” Damian says, trying to play it off as dismissive and offhand, but he thinks Jason might have caught how much Damian means it.

“You know, I think it might. At the very least you can stop him from sending me off to sleep in the stables.” Jason tries for a grin, but it’s tainted by the tired and apprehensive look in his eyes. “Even if I do deserve it.”

“No sweets for you, young man.” Damian snorts, perfectly mimicking the way Alfred had scolded Dick once when he’d raided the pantry without permission.

“Ha! Yes.” Jason sighs, shifting back into the chair as Titus paws at his ankle at the loud noise. Then there’s the sound of Dick getting up and dressed in their bedroom and by a mutual look, they agree to change the subject. “So, tell me more about this Metropolis boy with the apparent sad backstory, then.”

“Tt. I really don’t know why the girls found him so impressive. I thought his three older brothers sounded more adequate. But no, Maps and Maya thought Kent was _the absolute best!_ ” Damian grouches as Dick opens the bedroom door and stumbles out, heading straight towards breakfast.

***

In deference to Barbara’s condition, Bruce has moved all his meetings with her and Timothy into her private study. Two years ago, she’d been thrown from her horse, broken her back, but survived and as a consequence could now only get around in a chair with wheels. The study has no rugs on the floor to keep the chill off Bruce’s toes, despite the fire roaring in the grate, so that it won’t catch in the wheels of her chair and minimal furniture to allow for easier access. Sitting at the large dark mahogany oval table, Bruce waits with his sheaf of papers and forces his fingers to lay flat on the table top rather than tapping impatiently as he wants to let them do. 

Tim walks in, nodding to Bruce as he takes his seat at the table. From the ribbon tied in his hair it’s obvious that he’s come directly from spending time with the twins, Carrie and Duke, who at four years old are terribly spoilt by nearly everyone they meet, and their father is no exception. Bruce almost tells him that there’s a sparkly pink ribbon hanging down past his chin, but the small neglected part of him that usually only comes out around Selina takes over and he says nothing.

Tim opens several heavy books with notes for the meeting and is absorbed in reading them until Barbara arrives, her big heavy wheeled chair pushed by a servant that Bruce is only fleetingly familiar with. Once she’s pushed up to the table, the servant departs wordlessly and Barbara pushes her glasses up her nose before letting a small smirk cross her lips when she looks at her husband. 

“We’ve a few issues to discuss today.” Bruce begins, gaining both Tim and Barbara’s attention. “Firstly, the continuing question of sending aid to the metropolis rebels. I assume our position on this hasn’t changed?”

“No. Accepting any refugees who wish to come and sending some unofficial funds are still the limit we should keep to.” Tim nods, taking a quill out of one of his books and seemingly about to tick it when Barbara speaks up.

“I think perhaps we should review that.” Barbara flips her hair over her shoulder, thick braid thumping against the back of the chair. “I’ve had some new information come through. Lex is adding some new stringent laws that are frankly ridiculous. If they were simply unjust taxes or levies, I wouldn’t mention it, but these laws carry heavy sentences of life imprisonment and hard labour. Unless of course you can bribe the enforcers and lawyers...”

“New laws concerning what?” Tim blinks at her. “They haven’t been announced yet have they?”

“No. One is a trade law.” Barbara sighs, and Tim grimaces. “The other laws are more worrying. No more than two children per married couple. You now have to apply to have permission for _any_ children. Adjusted ages of consent for marriage, the age of the man has been raised and of course the age of the woman has been lowered.” The disgust on Barbara’s face is obvious. Even Bruce can feel his face pulling into a look of distaste at the implications. 

“And the trade law?” Bruce says, and Barbara gives him a brief look. “The other laws are ...shameful to say the least, considering the wealth of his kingdom. But there’s little we can do, apart from supporting the rebels. The trade law is perhaps something we might be able to influence.” Barbara’s disappointed look lessens and she sits back in her chair.

“It curtails the amount of grain to be sent to Al Ghul through the trade routes of the Waste Lands. Which could actually work to our favour, if we follow through on Prince Damian’s wishes, of course.” Barbara tilts her head towards Bruce. “Have we decided if we’re supporting Damian’s attempt at a coup?”

“I think between Sir Jason’s plans and Prince Damian’s standing, they may have as much as...” Tim adds, pausing to flip through his books and trail his fingers down the page to find the number he’s looking for. “An eighty five per cent chance of succeeding. Which are decent odds, if we’re honest.”

“I spoke to Dick about that, a few days ago. I’m more convinced than not that if we support them, they’ll succeed. I’m not however, convinced that Damian will make anything like a good puppet ruler. He’s too headstrong. We’d lose control of him almost immediately.” Bruce says solemnly.

“Even as an independent ruler, we still have the treaty agreed by Dick’s marriage to Sir Jason. And he’d be far better for us than Nyssa’s isolationist ways. Having him under our control would be preferable, of course.” Tim nods, and looks towards Barbara for her support. 

“I agree. When Damian comes to us for support, we should give it, regardless of whether he refuses our influence once on the throne.” Barbara slips her glasses off and wipes at them delicately with a handkerchief. Bruce nods, giving his silent agreement, settling at least that issue. “The real question then, is whether we change our stance on Metropolis? Sir Kent’s repeated requests are getting more desperate. He’s even brought all his brothers to the city to spread their stories to the people.” 

“Open support isn’t possible. Even without taking into consideration the trade agreements and old alliances we have, openly challenging Lex’s right to rule is beyond question.” Bruce says, tone hard and unwavering. Tim and Barbara share a look but both nod.

“Perhaps we could increase the financial aid? Offer to train their men the way we’ve allowed Sir Jason to train his countrymen?” Tim suggests, fingers flicking through his book again looking for more information on the amounts they surreptitiously slip to the rebels in the Centrum capital. “Wouldn’t that be enough? At least for now?”

“It will have to be.” Bruce says decisively. “I won’t allow anything else until the situation with Damian and Al Ghul has settled.”

***

“We need to discuss our plans for the invasion into Al Ghul.” Damian says quietly over the breakfast table in their rooms the next morning.

“We do?” Dick says looking up from spreading butter on his bread roll, ready to add jam next.

“We do.” Jason says, already finished eating and uncomfortable. Jason’s really wishing that Damian had let Jason bring it up in his own time.

“Alright. I didn’t realise you’d already spoken to Bruce.” Dick sets his food down to focus on the conversation, looking slighted at the thought that he hadn’t been included.

“I haven’t. It’s... about you, and what you’ll do during.” Damian says, getting up from the table and standing there gripping the chair back awkwardly.

“Me? I’ll do whatever you need me to do of course.” Dick says, now looking thoroughly confused.

“Oh good. In that case you’ll remain here?” Damian says, tightening his grip on the chair.

“What.” Dick blinks at Damian in surprise. “No, I absolutely won’t. I’m going where the both of you are going. There’s no question of that.”

“I think Damian means we’d both feel better and more able to focus on the job at hand if we know you’re safe here.” Jason says, pushing the plates and cutlery out of reach just in case.

“If you think you’re going to leave me behind to worry like some sort of... war widow, then you’re very mistaken. I’m going with you. I’m more than able to look after myself.” Dick says, pushing out of his chair and pacing away, clearly upset.

“You can more than hold your own. No one’s doubting that.” Jason tries to reassure Dick. “But I know if anything happens to you, I will _lose_ my mind. And Damian needs me.”

“And if I lose either of you, I won’t? That’s not true.” Dick says, throwing his arms up in the air.

“I understand why you didn’t want to tell him now.” Damian says, walking over to the couch and perching at the end of it.

“Look. What if I promise not to fight in the field? Would you _let_ me come then?” Dick says with a dangerous look on his face, and years of experience mean that Jason knows full well this argument’s lost already. Better to give in to Dick and keep all of them together and as happy as you can be in a warzone.

“Yes. If you promise.” Jason says and Damian whips his head around to stare at him in disbelief. Jason shrugs at Damian. Dick gives Damian an impatient look and Damian begrudgingly nods his acquiescence, realising that Jason’s apparently going to support Dick on this.

“I promise, Jason.” Dick says, giving off a smug, pleased air at getting his way.

“You say that, but you never built me those baths you promised...” Jason says, changing the topic abruptly, and trying to keep the smirk off his face and mostly succeeding.

“Don’t look at me. That was all Grayson. I drew up the plans exactly as discussed.” Damian says dryly, pointing to an old sketchbook sitting on the bookshelves that contains those plans.

“Really, Damian? Because I remember taking you down into the city, and around all the merchants for materials, and nothing being good enough quality for you.” Dick says, still far smugger than Jason knows Damian’s comfortable with.

“It’s not my fault you only took me to substandard merchants! The material quality matters when more than one person will be using it!” Damian huffs in exasperation, completely missing the little smirk on Dick’s face.

“Mmmm hmm. That sounds like an excuse to me.” Dick says, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

“Tt. You know full well it’s the truth.” Damian sniffs. “Don’t listen to him for a second, Todd.”

“Yes, I’ve learnt to tune him out a lot of the time and to nod and smile at the right moments. Of course it helps that he has a pretty face to look at. Keeps your attention in the right place.” Jason grins and Dick gasps horrified and grabs at his tunic above his heart.

“The betrayal! THE COMPLETE AND UTTER BETRAYAL. Here I was, thinking I have the best husband and son in the world and all this time... All this time you’ve merely been _humouring_ me! I cannot take this shock! I may in fact have to lie down.” Dick fakes staggering back as if shot full of arrows.

“Enjoy your rest, old man.” Damian grins, kicking back on the couch and spreading out in a sprawl.

“OLD? OLD! I’LL SHOW YOU OLD!” Dick yells, spinning on his heel and heading towards the bedroom. “JASON, COME DO YOUR HUSBANDLY DUTY RIGHT THIS INSTANT.”

“Yes, my Prince. Is all the yelling quite necessary?” Jason says, pulling himself out of his chair and following behind Dick in amusement.

“YES. IN FACT, WE ARE GOING TO BE AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE.” Dick yells over his shoulder. “IS THIS WHAT OLD POPLE DO? NO, I THINK NOT.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re talking like an old deaf man, actually.” Jason mutters as he passes Damian. He pauses at the end of the couch and picks up one of the cushions. “Here, you might want to smother yourself... I mean cover your ears with this.” He throws the cushion to Damian and then closes the bedroom door behind him with a loud thud.

***

“No, I give up. I simply fail to understand parents on any level whatsoever.” Damian grumbles as he swings his wooden practice sward at a dummy with a satisfying thump.

“Uh... It could be worse?” Suren pants as he stabs at a dummy, hair flying everywhere. Damian’s reminded him time and again to tie it back, but Suren always forgets.

“How?” Damian asks, not actually expecting an answer, distracted by how Maya has just scaled a sheer wall with no obvious apparatus. It’s actually rather impressive. Perhaps he should tell her that. 

“Oh! They could be trying to kill you? Or locking you up? Or um, taking away your dog!” Suren says, answering Damian anyway and sticking the point of his word into the training grounds sandy floor while he pauses to wipe his palms free of sweat.

“They would never touch Titus.” Damian concedes. “To be honest, sometimes I think Todd prefers Titus to me.”

“Well, Titus _is_ the most excellent of dogs, as you like to tell everyone.” Suren grins, and Damian turns to send a raised eyebrow at him.

“Using my own words against me, Darga? Well, I suppose it was time you learnt something from me after all.” Damian scoffs, finally managing to behead the practice dummy with a truly disturbing smile on his face.

“That’s not true.” Suren says, acting affronted. “I’ve learnt what ‘fustilarian’, ‘bescumber’ and ‘muckspout’ mean _and_ how to use them in conversation from you too!” Damian looks at Suren, face all open and mock hurt, and he can’t help the laughter that bubbles up inside him. He lets it out despite himself, not even minding the fleeting look of victory Suren hides well enough. Damian’ll let him have it just this once.

“A valuable lesson. It’s true.” Damian says, chuckles dying down. 

“Is there something wrong with Damian? I heard a noise from him? Is he dying?” Maya drops down next to them, looking completely unconcerned.

“No! I made him laugh!” Suren says with excitement shining in his eyes, as he shoves his hair out of his face.

“Lies. I was temporarily possessed by a demon. It was the howls of the damned, cursing your family. It absolutely was not laughter in any shape or form. No.” Damian says, deadpan, hoping Maya’ll let it drop.

“Ah, yes, that sounds much more likely.” Maya grins at them both. “Can’t have Suren winning the betting pool we’ve got on you yet... Are we still heading into the city later, or is it a nice quiet evening in giving Titus all the petting and treats we can con out of Lord Alfred?”

“Betting pool?” Damian tilts his head in confusion. “You’re running a betting pool on who makes me laugh? I’m fairly sure telling me invalidates that.”

“No, it just ups the difficulty level.” Maya tells him, reaching out to poke him gently in the shoulder.

“Please refrain from poking the royal personage, Ducard. I’d hate to lock you up for treason.” Damian says, glaring at the offending finger. “Well, no, that’s a lie. I’d enjoy it tremendously, but I think you’ve still got a use in Al Ghul, so I’ll let you off this once.”

“So deeply generous of you, your royal highness. I’m so very thankful.” Maya mock curtseys and then snorts in amusement. “But really, are we staying in tonight?”

“Yes. Bring all the treats.” Damian says firmly. “And that brush Titus likes.”

“Will do, my Lord, will do.” Maya nods, heading off to where ever it is in the castle complex she goes when she’s not hovering around Damian like a guardian angel.

After a quick wash, Damian and Suren arrive in Damian’s rooms. Damian heads straight over to the fireplace where Titus lifts his head, gives a soft chuffing woof and a happy wag of his tail, scooting over to plop his head on Damian’s thigh once Damian grabs a floor pillow and sits down, running his hand idly over Titus’ head.

“Have you been a good boy today, Titus? Of course you have.” Damian says and receives a quiet boof in response. “If only everyone was as good as you.”

“He sets a high standard.” Suren says, bringing over a bottle of wine and Damian’s sketchbook. He grabs a small guitar from one of the sideboards and takes a seat on the floor not too close to Damian, but close enough to be companionable, strumming a gentle tune with no words while Damian flips open his book and starts sketching Titus. 

“It’s true. You’d think the lack of ability to talk would be a hindrance, but no. It proves to be a bonus.” Damian says, sketching in a line wrong and scowling. “Well, I buggered that up. Let’s hope it’s not an omen.”

“Muckspout!” Suren gasps quietly, grinning.

“I honestly don’t know why I tolerate you sometimes.” Damian rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

“Because I was dumb enough to swear undying fealty to you for the rest of my life?” Suren says, still grinning, not offended at all.

“Tt. Yes, that sounds about right.” Damian nods.

***

All the candles in the room seem to flicker as one when Dick flumps back into the many plump pillows on the bed and wiggles down into a comfortable spot. Jason sits up more against his own pillows, and flicks his gaze to him, away from the pages of the very dry report on the current condition of the coastal towns that give Al Ghul its food. The summary could be reduced down to “It’s really very bad out here. Really” from the 800 word opening and Jason would still have enough information to support Damian at the meeting with Bruce. Dick gives him a smile when he notices Jason’s gaze, and with a final wiggle settles down.

“So.” Dick starts and Jason somehow manages to not pinch the top of nose or roll his eyes, because he had a feeling this talk was going to come. He slides a scrap of paper into the report so not to lose his place, and sets the report down on the bedside table.

“So?” Jason says, bracing himself for Dick’s disappointment in him. He’s not looking forward to it, but it’s better to get this conversation over with. Or so he tells himself.

“You were really going to ask me to stay behind?” Dick stares at him, eyes open wide and affronted.

“I... I was going to ask you to _consider_ it. I didn’t think for a moment you’d actually agree to it.” Jason shifts back into his own pillows. “It’s not that you can’t or even shouldn’t fight. I know you can and will.”

“What was it then?” Dick doesn’t really look mollified, but his tone is calm and patient, so Jason hopes he’s more irritated than hurt.

“Like I said before, if I lost you, I’d lose myself. And Damian’s going to need both of us for this.” Jason sighs. “I guess I thought it would be easier on us, if we knew you were safe and sound and with your family here?”

“Because that would stop me worrying about my family fighting in Nanda Parbat?” Dick asks and the sarcasm practically drips from his words. “My family being torn apart would be easier?”

“No. No, of course not.” Jason pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t think you’d stay behind. But we’re going with or without Bruce’s help. You family’s going to be pulled in two directions. I don’t know, I guess I was hoping you’d want to spend some time here before we win back Nanda Parbat and live there?” 

“I... Oh.” Dick says, looking confused and then surprised. Jason waits for Dick to continue. “Oh wow. I totally forgot we’d be living there, as long as all goes well. Isn’t that silly?”

“No. It’s not silly. You’ve got used to being back here. I don’t think you really want to move again. Not deep down. Which is why I put off talking to you about this.” 

“Oh. Damn. I do love living here. It’s where I grew up.” Dick sits up and gazes out of the window. “But I need to be where you and Damian are. You two are my home. I was just getting used to Nanda Parbat when we had to leave. I can get used to it again.”

“I wish I didn’t have to ask you to.” Jason takes in his husband’s profile, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his lashes brush his cheek as he looks down in regret.

“I know. That’s why I love you and you’re the best husband.” Dick turns to Jason and leans over dropping a kiss on Jason’s cheek.

“You’re just saying that because if we move you won’t have to build me any baths.” Jason huffs, leaning into Dick’s shoulder, and wrapping his arm around his neck. 

“Ah, you caught me!” Dick laughs, but the amusement is shot through with sadness. “But there’s my excellent luck again. We’ll be moving somewhere I don’t need to build anything!”

“And to think I once hoped you were sun-addled.” Jason says, shaking his head slowly. The joke makes Dick smile a true happy smile, and Jason feels some of the worry lift with the corners of Dick’s mouth.

“It must have such a disappointment to realise I was born like this.” Dick smirks, and Jason looks down at him and drops a kiss on the tip of nose.

“It was an adjustment, I’ll admit. But I think I’ve finally grown used to you.” Jason says breezily.

“Oh, you have? That’s good. Adaptability is a good trait to have in a husband.” Dick points out.

“Is it now?” Jason snorts. “Well, thank you for finally telling me. Only took you eight years.”

“Well, a boy likes to keep some mystery in a marriage! You have to have something to look forward to.” The grin on Dick’s face tells Jason all he needs to know.

“Do I? What if I like things exactly as they are?” Jason grins, leering down at Dick’s thighs as they part ever so slightly.

“Nothing wrong with the old reliable, of course. But sometimes it’s nice to spice things up, don’t you think?” Dick says, spreading his legs wider and batting his lashes up at Jason.

“I like spice better than you do, is what I think.” Jason twists, pushing Dick down into the pillows. “Sometimes I have to remind you how good spice is, is what _I_ think.” 

“And what spice are you thinking of right now?” Dick asks breathily, sliding a leg around Jason’s.

“Hmm, why don’t you strip off and tell me what you think you deserve?” Jason growls, pushing up to loom over Dick as best he can with all the candles in the room giving off a romantic glow.

“Have I mentioned I really love it when you take your husbandly duty so seriously?” Dick gasps, sitting up to strip off.

“Once or twice. You can thank me later, if you can sit down that is.” Jason smirks.

***

Alfred leads Damian, Dick and Jason into Bruce’s study and quietly and firmly shuts the door behind him. A steaming pot of tea with cups waits on the side table to be served. Dick looks at his father, husband, and son and realises that he’s probably the least nervous person in the room and so moves over to the tea and serves out the cups as they all sit down and take the impending conversation seriously.

“Your Majesty. Thank you for agreeing to see us.” Damian says, as carefully and respectfully as Dick’s ever heard him. “We are petitioning you today for aid and funds to be used in service of retaking Al Ghul for its rightful ruler. Sir Todd has the particulars and details, if you are willing to listen.”  
Bruce takes a delicate sip of tea and says nothing, but gestures at Damian to continue.

“Lady Nyssa is a usurper and tyrant. Reports coming from Al Ghul, as I’m sure you’re aware are painting a very ...dark picture. We hope, with your aid, to liberate the capital of Nanda Parbat and set to right the wrongs committed by Lady Nyssa, as much as we can.” Damian says, hand rising to adjust his collar. He tugs at it in futilely, and lets his hand drop back down into his lap. 

“I see. I cannot agree to anything without the particulars.” Bruce says, solemn and giving Damian his full attention. Dick’s relieved that Bruce isn’t treating this as a joke, or a petition brought to early to be heard.

“Of course. Sir Todd, if you would?” Damian nods, taking a sip of his own tea. Dick notices that Damian’s hand has the slightest tremble. He wishes they weren’t in the sort of situation where Dick can’t reach out to calm him. They might be in private with Bruce, and not out in the throne room publically requesting aid, but this is Damian standing up to be heard and having his parent reach out to ruffle his hair is a guaranteed way to indicate Damian’s not ready for what he’s asking for.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Damian of Al Ghul has under his command and elite taskforce of twenty men and women, ready and able to infiltrate the Al Ghul border and into Nanda Parbat to take out Lady Nyssa and any of her officials, if that is deemed necessary. We have the funds accrued to cover the costs of either desert travel or to cross the straight by ship, enough supplies for the time calculated to overthrow the current regime and of course, weapons.” Jason recites, handing over a folder with the exact numbers to Bruce.

“All very impressive, I’ll grant you, Damian. But what exactly do you need from Us?” Bruce says, opening the folder and scanning the contents. He pauses before turning the page to look up at Damian.

“Al Ghul is requesting additional funds, troops and supplies in accordance with the alliance treaty cemented by Prince Richard and Sir Jason’s marriage.” Damian says, struggling not to swallow nervously. 

“To be precise, additional funds of 5000 crowns.” Jason adds, hands flat on the table and eyes narrowed flintily. “2000 men, and three months worth of supplies and rations for them to aid in retaking the city.” 

“And what does Gotham get in return?” Bruce says, shutting the folder and keeping it in front of him. Damian and Jason share a brief look, Jason nodding minutely.

“Gotham receives everything set out in the treaty already established that Lady Nyssa has been summarily ignoring.” Damian says, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “In addition, we are willing to negotiate a reasonable reward of your choosing.”

“A reasonable reward. Interesting wording.” Bruce says, not unkindly. “Would Lazarus Water be considered a reasonable reward?” Damian blanches, but otherwise shows no reaction. Jason flicks his gaze to Damian before answering.

“Al Ghul would be prepared to gift Gotham with a small amount of Lazarus Water. No more than a gallon.” Jason says, and Dick can see Jason move his leg out of the corner of his eye, knocking his ankle against Damian’s. “It is not a _reasonable_ reward, but we are willing to give it.” 

“That is more than generous.” Bruce says, eyebrows raised. Dick knows the healing water is what Bruce had been hoping for. Dick also knows exactly how jealously al Ghul guards the Lazarus Water, and that they’re prepared to give Gotham so much is a prospect that Bruce can’t turn down. Just a few drops of the water into a mortal wound is enough to save a man’s life. Having such a resource would be invaluable. If Bruce has decided not to support Damian, then this offer is more than enough to change his mind. 

“It is, however a limited time offer.” Damian says, voice barely making it out of his mouth with how dry his throat’s become.

“And one that is accepted.” Bruce says, lifting his hand to hold it out in front of Damian. “The terms for aid are more than agreeable to Gotham. Congratulations, Prince Damian. Your men and Ours will leave as soon as all is prepared.”

“Yes. Thank you. We are pleased to...” Damian trails off, taking Bruce’s hand and shaking it, looking poleaxed with surprise. 

“You’re welcome, Damian.” Bruce says with a kind smile. Damian nods and blinks rapidly. “It won’t be the same here without the three of you. Perhaps when you’ve settled in Nanda Parbat, we might be allowed as state visit?”

“Yes. Yes, certainly. Please do, your Majesty.” Damian nods and Bruce stands, ushering them into the hall.

“We’ll make the official announcement tonight, if that suits?” Bruce opens the door and they slowly walk out into the sunlight of Gotham.

“Yes. Thank you, Bruce.” Dick says, smiling widely. Bruce nods and disappears back into his study, shutting the door behind him. “Well. That went better than expected? Must have been my excellent luck.”

“Yes. We’re going home.” Damian says, eyes wide and hopeful. Dick throws caution to the wind and hugs him tight. He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder and looks up to the grave face of Jason. Without a word he pulls him into the hug too. “Father, we’re going home. We’ll avenge Mother and Grandfather.”

“Yes, we will, my Lord. Finally.” Jason whispers back fiercely. “You should go out and celebrate with your friends. You may not see some of them for a while.”

“Are you sure? I should help with the preparations.” Damian says, pulling out of the hug, and straightening his clothes.

“Oh, I’m sure, Damian.” Dick says with a wide smile. “Jason and I are going to celebrate in our own way.”

“Oh, how?” Damian says, already taking a step back to leave. “No! No, wait, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know!”

“Jason is going to do his husbandly duty!” Dick says brightly, smiling wider as Damian’s face goes from panicked to disgusted.

“Ugh, you and your husbandly duty! I can only hope you’re quieter on the way to Nanda Parbat than you were on the way here!” Damian yells over his shoulder and Jason snorts beside Dick.

“We weren’t that loud, were we?” Dick asks him, remembering long nights and days under the cover of a tent.

“We could have been quieter.” Jason grins. “But since Damian’s out for the rest of the day, why don’t we go to our rooms and see just how loud we can be, hmm?”

“Yes. Lets!” Dick grins back, heart skipping a beat at the smile on Jason’s face. It’s just like the summer sun emerging from behind clouds.


End file.
